


Superstar

by nogoaway



Series: Superstar AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Queer Themes, WMMA AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Retired" MMA fighters South and Niner run a gym outside Boston. Carolina Church goes to Harvard. </p>
<p>Basically, everyone is queer and they punch each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superstar

It's a Thursday night when York comes in with his friend, so Niner's not on the desk. She's unwrapping her hands in the locker room and icing her knee while Wash sits across from her with his nose bloody, a matching ice pack settled in over his left eye.

"Didn't mean to hit you that hard," she says, not quite apologetically "but you gotta be more aggressive."

Wash's mouth quirks up, cracking dried blood. "Yes, ma'am." Then he sits up straighter, and winces, free hand jerking towards his ribs.

Connie had told her not to say anything but fuck it, what does Connie know?

"You should just wear a sports bra," Niner tells him, and the glare he gives her is murderous "oh, get over yourself. I've been doing this way longer than you have, kiddo. We're all queers here."

Wash flushes, hunches in on himself, and the icepack plops to the floor when he folds his arms over his chest. Which is, of course, the exact moment York's friend pokes her head in.

"Is this the women's--" she looks over at Niner, and then at Wash, clearly baffled. Her hair is fire-truck red falling loose around her face, and she has the greenest eyes Niner has ever seen. Her fingers, where they curl around the doorjamb, are long and thin and flawlessly manicured with a matte sea-foam. Niner's abruptly aware of how much of a mess she must look, with her battered knuckles and hair she hasn't bothered to re-twist in ages.

"Equal opportunity locker room," Niner says, because they only have the one, and that's why there's no gingerbread people on the door, isn't it obvious? "Who're you?" Besides incredibly pretty and probably lost.

"Oh. I'm with York," she looks back over her shoulder, and frowns "which-- excuse me." Then she's gone, and the door thumps shut. Out on the floor, there's muffled shouting. Niner recognizes South from years of working together, and the lower register is probably York.

"Shit," Wash says, and wrestles the padlock off his locker, throwing it open and retrieving a giant gray hoodie "he's here to pick me up. We were gonna meet North for pizza over on Broadway, I lost track of time." He strips off his sweaty underarmor with lightning speed, and Niner only gets a glimpse of the tape before he's shrugging into the sweatshirt and zipping it up.

Niner hobbles off the bench to the sink and wets a wad of paper towel. "C'mere. Can't show up to a date with blood on your face. Not with North, anyhow."

Wash rubs a hand under his nose and squints at it, like he only just noticed. "It's not a date." He takes the wadded up paper from her hand and sets to wiping off his upper lip.

"Sure it isn't," Niner says, but lets it go at that "If you come in here with an ace bandage again, I'm blacklisting you. You're going to fuck up your ribs."

He frowns "I have a tri-top, but--"

"But you can't spar in it. And you shouldn't. Sports bra or I'm out, and you can get _South_ to train you."

Wash actually shudders, full-body. "I don't, uh--" want to be seen buying one, probably.

"We'll find you something." Niner slaps him on the shoulder "good work, today. I'll see you next week. Until then, drills. Don't go easy on your left."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, and shoulders the door open.

Niner follows him out, because the yelling has stopped, and that probably means South's stormed off somewhere and abandoned the desk. And yeah, maybe she wants to get a closer look at their visitor.

She does not expect to see York sitting on the desk, watching with amusement as South and said visitor circle each other barefoot on the mats. The girl's still wearing a blouse and artfully distressed jeans, but she has her fists up in a pair of Kanpeki gloves, and when South takes a few testing swings at her she doesn't play along, just ducks around South's side and lands two right on the ribs. South retaliates with a sweeping kick that the girl grabs around the thigh, twists, and sends South to the mat with. Instead of following her down, though, the redhead just hops back and puts her guard up again. She has very nice form, Niner notes absently. Southpaw, with good footwork.

"York?" Wash waves at him "Sorry, I got distracted."

To Niner's surprise, York doesn't take that obvious opening. "It's cool. She's been asking about this place for ages, no trouble to stop by."

"Is your friend gonna be alright?" Niner asks, because even though she's keeping South on her toes at the moment, the girl looks very skinny and small in comparison to South's hulking 5'9". South's been off the circuit for years now and even when she was at the top of her game she had trouble staying down at 145 for Featherweight division.

York smiles. "She held the WBC Canadian title for four years. Is yours?"

Oh. Niner doesn't really keep up to date with boxing. When she looks back over at them, the redhead has South turtled in the corner, keeping her pinned with punches that flow one into the other so quick and smooth even Niner has trouble keeping up from the sidelines.

"Hey," she shouts, because South never will, "Lay off, would ya?"

"That's a TKO where I come from," York says, and slides off the desk.

"Go retrieve your pitbull, assface," Niner grumps, but watches with genuine appreciation as the girl backs up and offers South a hand. South waves it off. She's gonna be a real treat to deal with for the next few days. If being a bad sport was ranked, South would keep that belt on her wall until she died.

"Come _on_ , Wash," York calls from the door, as the redhead strides towards the desk, strips her gloves off and slips her high heels back on. Her feet are pale and narrow and perfect, nails painted the same sea-foam blue.

"Nice moves," Niner says, because she can't help herself. The girl looks up at her, blinks impossibly green eyes. Long lashes. Long eye contact, long enough to tick over from 'friendly' to 'hi there, I see you're queer, too'. "Where do you train?"

"Nowhere, at the moment," she stands up fully, and Niner realizes the girl's taller than her, by a good inch and a half. Or, that could be the heels. She refuses to be self-conscious about her ratty sneakers. This is a gym. "I'm shopping."

Yeah, right. "Well, thanks for stopping by," Niner tries for a smile anyway "it's a real treat to see the sweet science around here."

"I noticed you all prefer the rough and tumble," the girl tucks her hair up into a loose ponytail and smiles back at Niner, just a little, tops of her white teeth gleaming, and _oh_. Definitely flirting.

What the hell. "Maybe I could show you some time," Niner returns, and then York shouts again from the door, "come on, I'm _starving_ " and the next time Niner sees him she is going to kill him. She is going to drop a grenade on him.

"Maybe," the girl says, but she's already turning and clicking away on what even Niner can tell are designer heels. The bell over the door jingles as she leaves.

Behind her, South makes a disgusted noise. Niner turns to look at her.

"'Maybe I'll show you sometime?' _Really_? Mayday, Four-Seven."

"Well, what was your line?" Niner smirks "because I'm not the one with a broken nose."

"It's not broken," South pokes at it gingerly, and a little blood dribbles out "she hits like a girl."

"Just quit screwin' around and close up," Niner tells her.

* * *

They look their mysterious visitor up on Connie's phone, the next night over drinks on Wash's front stoop. It's not hard-- the WBC women's titles don't turn over that often, and she was clearly in the lighter divisions. Bantamweight, it turns out. Catherine "Carolina" Church, from Ottowa. Defended her title four years in a row, but left the sport to study mathematics at Harvard, which explains how she met York. Niner would say the photo of her on the boxrec profile was airbrushed, but she's seen the woman. Her eyes really are that green.

"God, I hate people like her," South says into her beer, and Niner would snark back at her about it, but Connie is there, and people who insult South in front of Connie tend to wind up with their tires slashed and their loved ones missing. "It's like-- perfect people. With her perfect hair and her perfect diet and her perfect fucking Ivy League, I bet she spends her free time volunteering at homeless shelters and saving orphans from trees or some shit."

"She does have nice hair," Connie says, from the top step, and Niner leans her head back on the concrete next to her. Connie's fingers reach over to fiddle with her chain. It's affection, but also a warning. 'Do not insult my girlfriend', those fingers say 'I work for the NSA and no one will ever find your body'. Niner exhales smoke and watches it blur out the skyline. She has the _best_ crew.

The door opens behind them, and Wash steps out, carrying more beers. Something good-smelling wafts out behind him, on a cloud of soft music. Snow Patrol? _Really_?

"Ughhhh can we come inside yet, it's so cold," South whines, and actually kicks her feet like a toddler.

"No," Wash says, and nudges Connie over to sit down "no smoking in my place."

"So you came out here to be with the smoke?" Niner would blow some in his face, just because, but that would require moving.

"North kicked me out of the kitchen," he admits, and distributes beer cans with his usual military efficiency. Niner takes the opportunity to drop her cigarette butt in South's empty when it's passed by overhead.

"Oh my god," South sits bolt upright, and then sways a little bit. Connie sets a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "You're fucking my brother."

"I-- what?!" Wash makes a choking noise "I am _not_ , and that is _none_ of your business--"

"He _kicked you out of the kitchen_. Your _own_ kitchen. Q E fucking D."

"How does that even make sense," Wash starts, but South's already pointing an accusing finger at him and gesturing with mute vehemence towards the window to the kitchen, where North's bent over the crappy Ikea two-burner looking like, yeah, a 1950's housewife. Niner pops open her new can and settles in to enjoy the train wreck. At least South's moved off of perfect Carolina Church to her other favorite rant topic, North's sex life.

"Nice legs, too," Connie says, staring at her phone a little dreamily, and Niner nods.

South and Wash's argument quickly devolves into semi-vocal pantomime, with lots of hand waving, exasperated sighs, and suggestive humming. It's weirdly calming, sinking back into the white noise of distant cars.

"Nice everything." Niner takes a long swig and then sets her beer down on the stoop. Connie's still playing with her chain. "Why was she slumming it, do you think?"

Connie hums. "Well, York brought her. Sounds like they're--"

"No," Niner says, very firmly "She's on our team. My gaydar is laser precision, you know that."

"I was going to say friends. But yeah, I think so, too, if that's what she said to you."

"Two out of three dykes agree," Niner doesn't bother holding in her sigh, she's a maudlin drunk and among friends "She was perfect, she is never coming back to this dump, and I am never gonna get with that."

Connie pats her cheek gently. 

* * *

But perfect Carolina Church does come back, on Saturday morning, and this time she's not even attached to York. Niner sees her through the big front window panel, pulling up in a sleek silver Audi and stepping out to glance up and down the street, like she's expecting to find a meter. She's wearing shades, a maroon Harvard sweater, tight jeans, and brown leather boots that come up to the knee. Niner watches her for a minute from behind the register, and then she goes over to unlock the front door.

She means to say "I'm sorry, we don't open until nine," but what comes out is "Are you crazy? Park that thing in the back."

"Excuse me?"

"You might as well walk around here with twenties hanging out of your pockets," Niner says, and has to double check to make sure twenties _aren't_ hanging out of her pockets. It's as good an excuse as any to stare at her ass for a minute.

"I can take care of myself," Carolina Church says, and peers at Niner over the opaque lenses of her shades, shot blue and gold by the sky. Green. So green. They have to be contacts.

"Can your car? Lot's in the back, come on. I don't need any bad press."

Carolina Church glances over at the fading window decals that spell 'Pelican MMA', the taped up photocopies (comic sans, Wash's fault) advertising "Bash Back", South and Niner's weekly program for local queer youth, the barbershop next door with a series of increasingly vehement stop work orders tacked to the walls, and then back at Niner.

"Something tell me you don't get much press either way," she says, and softens it with a smile that makes Niner's chest pinch up like she's been running too fast in the cold "give me a minute, then." 

* * *

 

"Not gonna touch gloves?" Niner asks, and circles Lina with her left side just slightly forward "I'm hurt."

"Do you all do that here?" Carolina steps forward and offers her fist.

"We're not all uncivilized hooligans," Niner bumps it casually, and dances back "it's a pity you met South first. I saw she kicked you."

"Below the belt," Lina agrees, and leads with a right jab. Niner leans in enough to evade the follow-up left cross, and lunges in with a jab of her own. Lina clips her with a right hook, and Niner takes the blow, rushes in to get at her side and land a few on the body, but before she can Lina pivots on her back foot and suddenly she's gone. Niner staggers forward into empty air and catches herself on her hands.

When she bounces back up and turns around, Lina's smiling at her. "Haven't been able to pull that one off in a long time," she says, good-naturedly "you're not used to boxing?"

"These aren't even my gloves," Niner admits. They were an old pair of York's he'd "donated" to the lost-and-found. She'd had to wipe dust off of the laces.

"I did some Muy Thai in high school," Lina volunteers, casing in on her again with easy combos that just brush up against Niner's face and arms, precision and speed making it clear she's pulling them "we can do it your way, if you like."

The door bell jangling saves Niner from what would undoubtedly have been a really awful line. "I'd love to, but I'm technically on the desk."

"Don't let me keep you from your job. You have a speed bag?"

They do, in fact, have a speed bag. Niner directs Carolina to it and turns her attention back to the desk just as the thwappita-thwappita of gloves on leather starts up.

The usual weekend a.m. crowd filters in over the next hour, and since they're mostly self-regulating (she did have to extract one slightly hungover regular from a squat cage in the weight room, but he looked appropriately chastened) Niner keeps one eye on Carolina Church while she moves between the speed bag and the blue heavy bag and the wall at the rear of the gym.

Her style, now that Niner's seen more of it, is unusual. The only word she can come up with is 'elegant', but that doesn't quite capture the way Carolina Church moves her feet and hands, boxing with her dark double on the bare cinder block. There's a flashiness to her motion, especially in the feet, but it never crosses over into superfluity or sloppiness. Each pivot that Niner thinks is for show carries some part of Carolina's body into the next blow, and the next, and the next. She's fast, but never frantic. Fluid and fancy. Niner's so used to South's brutal functionalism and the general rawness of her combat sport of choice that it takes her a good thirty minutes of watching Carolina Church shadowbox to find the missing word. Playful. Carolina Church fights with elegant playfulness.

Niner reflects briefly on this new and exciting way in which Carolina Church is out of her league, and turns back to updating member email adresses. She must lose track of time, because when footsteps approach the desk next it's almost ten thirty.

"Here," Carolina Church says, and slides two crisp twenties across the desk. Niner stares at them for a moment.

"What's this for?"

"I have to get to study group." She's showered, Niner notices. Her face is scrubbed of makeup and strands of firey hair slip slicky out from a hasty bun. "I didn't know if you had a daily rate."

"Are you kidding me? That'd get you a blowjob, and I don't do that shit," Niner blurts out, before she can stop herself "where are you even from?"

"Ottawa," Carolina Church grins, and flushes ever so slightly, high up on her cheeks. Niner's sure it's just left over from the showers.

"You pay forty a day to go to the gym in Ottawa?"

"I'd pay forty a day to train with The Aviator," she leans forward and folds her arms on the desk, stares right at Niner.

Oh. "Someone's done their research." Her chest feels heavy, tight, and not in a good way. If Carolina knows her cage name, she knows why Niner's not on the circuit anymore. It's impossible to Google her, or South, without knowing.

"So? Do we have a deal?"

"You're not gonna get anything out of training with me," Niner insists "you're on a different level, Church."

"Look. I'm retired," Carolina informs her "I never got to pick up Jujitsu or Judo, and I want to. Just as a hobby. This place is low-key and I like you. York's told me what you do for the neighborhood, and I respect that. It's important, and I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

Carolina Church is trying to get in her community service. That explains it, then. South's right more often than Niner's comfortable with, when it comes to reading people. Niner slides the bills back over the counter, and Carolina's face falls a little, before stubbornness tightens it up again. Niner holds her hand up.

"Wednesday, 4pm. That's when the kids are here. There's a boy, Malik, he's fifteen. Wants to box."

"Sure," Carolina says, "and when can I see you?"

Niner snorts.

"You said you'd show me sometime," and a pale, thin hand settles over Niner's on the desk, skin reddened from tape "did you change your mind?"

"Haven't you?" Niner snaps, because that's what it always comes down to, and she hates surprises, hates being suddenly reminded of how very little privacy she actually has.

"You know," Carolina weaves their fingers together "I'm trying not to be insulted, here."

Niner stares at their hands, at how broad and rough her fingers are. Next to girls like Carolina Church, it's a wonder Niner ever passes at all.

"Let me take you out to coffee," Carolina's saying, "We'll talk fighting styles. Give me a chance to convince you.

Oh, what the hell.

 

"Keep your money," Niner orders, but doesn't pull her hand back as she does "I get off at five."

Carolina's smile is clean and white, but her right incisor is chipped. "I'll be here, then."

 

* * *

"Listen, I am telling you this as a friend," South says, leaning too far over the desk. Niner moves her fries out of the way preemptively. "Do not mess around with cis girls."

Niner just raises her eyebrows.

"Connie doesn't count," South takes a healthy swig of her beer and burps, hideously "she is the one glorious exception. She exists on a plane beyond gender. But cis girls, no. They are bitches and they will leave you."

"South, I'm pretty sure Kai left you because you tried to sleep with her brother," Niner thinks about engaging her filter, but no, it's South, "and because you drink too much. Speaking of which, it's two in the afternoon, and you have to teach today."

"I'm gonna burp at you again, just gimme a second," South informs her, and raises one finger as she chugs the rest of the can. Sure enough, she does. "There. That's what I think of your 'drawing arbitrary boundaries for participation'."

"You keep bringing that interview up, Dakota," Niner drags a fry through her ketchup and mayo, swirling the red into the white "and I'm gonna regret my decision to leave Invicta."

"Nah," South steals an untainted fry and pops it into her mouth before Niner can smother them all in her condiment concoction and defend her lunch from further thievery "you have _solidarity_ with my girl dick. Can't take it back, it's in print."

The bell rings, and Niner glances up, trying not to look as excited as she actually is at the prospect of seeing Lina again. But it's just Flowers, with Connie and Maine and a plate of home-made lemon bars. Butch sets the plate on the desk and pulls up a stool while Connie wraps her arms around South's shoulders and kisses her on the cheek. Maine gives Niner a solemn nod and vanishes into the locker room.

"I hope these come with gossip," South says, and slips her fingers under the saran wrap. it wouldn't be a surprise. Flowers specializes in baked goods, crochet, sprawl-and-brawl, and intelligence gathering.

"Those are for the munchkins," Butch makes a show of slapping at her wrist "Shoo."

"They have almonds," South notes, chewing appreciatively "You're a fucking magician. Spill."

Flowers effects a curtsy, and South rolls her eyes. "Thank you, darling. But I'm afraid the only word on the street is about our mutual friend."

Niner chews as innocently as possible on a fry, but it's too late. South is already glaring lasers at her.

Niner sighs. "North ratted, huh?"

"A good reporter never reveals his sources," Butch says, and leans on the desk "but rumor has it that on Saturday last a certain barista of our acquaintance served a pumpkin spice latte and a non-fat caramel macchiato to a mysterious redhead and her debutante. They sat at a corner table for two and a half hours before vanishing westward in a silver Audi--"

"Stop," Niner orders, and resists the urge to lay her forehead on the desk "just stop."

"You took her to _Starbucks_?" South looks deeply offended, though on whose behalf Niner isn't quite sure "you _hate_ Starbucks."

"She took _me_ to Starbucks. And the pumpkin thing has whipped cream on it, it's really good."

"Those things are like eight fucking dollars-- oh my god, you have a sugar momma--"

Connie, very gently, slides her hand over South's mouth. "Did you have a good time?"

Niner nods. "Yeah. She's coming tonight, to talk with Malik. And she wants to learn Jujitsu."

Connie taps South on the nose and draws her hand back. "There, see? Niner's fine. Be nice."

South frowns, but keeps her mouth shut.

"Well," Butch exclaims, and claps his hands together "I'm off to the convenience store for Gatorade and sandwiches. Lemon bars do not a square meal make. We can't have our youth going hungry in the prime of life! "

"They're the future," Connie agrees, and tugs South up by the elbow, "we'll come with you to help with the heavy lifting."

"I am surrounded by goddesses," Butch holds the door open for them, and South scowls at him as she's dragged by.

Niner tucks into her fries. When Maine comes back from the locker room in his gym clothes, she offers him a stool. He takes it, and filches a lemon bar. They chew, staring out the window at the street in companionable silence. The church down the road chimes three o'clock just as Lina's Audi peels around the corner and vanishes down the alleyway.

Maine turns and stares at Niner. Niner realizes she's grinning dopily, and tries to wrestle her face back into compliance. It must not work very well, because Maine snorts at her, and claps her on the back with a force that threatens to send her face-first onto the desk.

The door chimes, and Lina steps in with a cardboard coffee holder in her hands and a teal scarf wound around her neck and shoulders.

"You're early," Niner says.

"Thought I could help you set up," Carolina hands her a steaming cup that smells like pumpkin and Niner wraps her hands around it. "And I wanted to make up with South, if I could. I didn't mean to hit her so hard."

Maine laughs. Niner whips her head around to stare at him in surprise. Carolina does the same, as if she only just noticed the six-foot-four behemoth perched on a stool next to Niner.

"Lina, this is Maine. He's our submission wrestling expert."

They shake hands. How they manage it is beyond Niner, as Carolina's vanishes completely during the procedure. Then Maine stands up, tilts his head towards Lina in acknowledgement, and makes himself scarce.

"He doesn't talk much," Lina observes, and unwinds her scarf before settling on the vacated stool.

"Nope," Niner takes a sip of the coffee. It's the perfect temperature. Lina extracts her own from the cardboard carrier and licks foam off the lid. Niner tries not to stare. "You don't have to make nice with South, you know. She won't reciprocate."

Lina shrugs. "It's worth a shot. I'd hate to be blacklisted from this place just because I can't get along with your friends."

Niner considers this. "Let her kick your ass on the mat a few times," she says, finally "she thinks you're perfect."

"Hmm. You saying I'm not?" Lina teases, and swivels on the stool to face her.

Perfect for me, Niner thinks, but she's going to keep that one to herself for now. "I dunno. I heard from York you messed up a word problem on Monday."

"York has a big mouth."

"Mmmhmm." Niner sips at her coffee, lets her eyes close.

"You know, it's almost obscene how much you enjoy those," Lina says, right next to her ear.

"What can I say," Niner leans back into her, and sets the cup down "I like it when beautiful women buy me things."

"Turn down the charm," Lina elbows her, lightly. In retaliation, Niner reaches back and pokes her in the ribs. Lina sucks in a breath, and huffs it back out in a weird little cough.

"Oh, no _way_ ," Niner says, with glee, and pokes her again.

"Don't--" Lina chokes out, but it's too late. Niner shoves both of their coffees to the center of the desk and tackles her off the stool onto the nearest mat.

Carolina Church is ticklish, and she snorts when she laughs too hard. She also can't figure out how to get out from under a north-south pinning hold. Niner nuzzles Lina's shirt up with her chin and grins into the skin of her belly as Lina tries to distract her with weak blows to the head. Niner's having so much fun she doesn't even notice the door's opened again until South crouches down next to them and taps her on the back.

"Give her a chance, asshole," South says, and then slaps Lina's thigh when Niner lets up from blowing raspberries "elbows on the mat and press up with your torso, don't let her put all her weight on you."

"Mmpph," mumbles Carolina Church, right into Niner's stomach, but she's pushing back now. Niner lets her, for the moment.

"With your left hand," South's saying, "you're gonna force her head to your right. Bring your right arm forward and in, across the neck, hook over her shoulder, and press her out."

It's not how Niner would have done it, but she realizes after a very uncomfortable moment that South's playing to Lina's upper body strength.

"You're gonna turn towards me, and-- yeah, that works," South laughs as Lina twists out from under Niner and kicks her in the hip. Niner sprawls back, startled. She forgot they were both still wearing shoes. "You'd want to hook legs around her waist and pull her into a guard, normally. But that works. Nice initiative." She doesn't sound grudging about it, but South's always liked watching Niner get her ass kicked.

To Niner's astonishment, South offers Lina a hand. She takes it.

"Two against one," Niner says from the mat "that's real classy."

"Nah," South steps back, and sets a plastic bag on the desk "House rules say no tickling. I'm on enforcement."

"Sorry," Lina helps Niner up. Her hand is very warm, and she doesn't let go once Niner's vertical.

"I deserved it," Niner admits "next time no flats, though. Or pants, if have any say in it."

"Ugh," South throws her hands up and vanishes into the locker room, making disgusted noises "Maine! Get out here, you animal, I got you roast beef."

"You know, I think I like the rough and tumble," Lina hooks an index finger into Niner's waistband and reels her in, grinning with that chipped shark tooth.

"That was a terrible line," Niner knocks their foreheads together, lightly, and sets her free hand on Lina's hip.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Affirmative." Lina's breath smells like fancy coffee, and her mouth tastes like caramel. Niner runs her tongue over the incisor playfully.

"No nookie on the mats!" South shouts from the back of the gym. Niner breaks off and rolls her eyes.

"Later," Carolina says, and turns them both back to the desk. "Drink your coffee."

"Yes ma'am," Niner says, and does just that as the rest of her friends pile in the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Superstar (Supahhhstahhh) now has a "where are they now?" credits epilogue which you can read here:  
> http://nogoawayok.tumblr.com/post/112262071216/so-i-had-an-incredibly-south-in-boston-moment


End file.
